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Thence through several western looking towns, over the coast range of mountains, the high volcanic peak of Monte Diabolo, looming up 3,800 feet on our right—a landmark far out in the Pacific—and just at dusk we reached Oakland, the terminus of the railroad, and the Brooklyn of San Francisco. Here we are transferred to a steam ferry boat, and crossing over the broad bay we watch with no little interest the myriad lights from the great city before us which reflected and doubled in number on the smooth water, stretch from the wharves high up to the summit of the hill upon which the city is built. Arriving at the pier the rush of passengers, shouting of hackmen and omnibus drivers, and the general confusion are worthy of New York City. The streets through which we are driven to the “Grand Hotel” are most brilliantly lighted. We pass block after block of splendid stores where the plate glass and rich display of wares remind us of Broadway. On the street corners the large, white California grapes are being sold, “eight pounds for a quarter.” The pears, which we have frequently seen East, but rarely felt rich enough to buy, are here offered “three for a dime.” No indication this of the high prices we had on the Pacific coast.
I have heard it predicted that in a few years this trip across the Continent will become as stale a subject for description as that over the Alleghenies from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, and such was my own impressions before passing aver it. And now, perhaps, I owe your readers an apology for occupying so much space in trying, though very imperfectly, to sketch the salient points of the route. The novelty, beauty, and grandeur of the scenery can hardly be exaggerated. One should return by the same route, at least as far as Cheyenne, to properly appreciate it, and then he will agree with me that no word painting can do it justice.
We reach San Francisco on Saturday night. The “China steamer” sails at noon on Tuesday, so what we see of this city which has grown up within a few years as it the genii of Alladin were the slaves of the builders, must be quickly accomplished. Here are hotels that compare favorably with the “St. Nicholas” or the “Fifth Avenue”—stores on Montgomery street that can only he matched on Broadway. But splendid blocks, expensive public buildings and fine hotels alone do not constitute a
